


Fortitude

by Distressedegg



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Pining, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 15:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10415637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Distressedegg/pseuds/Distressedegg
Summary: Rejection doesn't happen like in the movies. There's no awkward kiss or grand heartfelt explanations of why Archie doesn't love him. It all happens too fast.





	

He sits there, next to his best friend, maybe a bit too close, but with no intention of moving. They're sat on Archie's old red couch, the one that's been there since he first visited the Andrews' house in second grade. It's just the four of them, him, Betty, Archie and Veronica, sitting in Archie's room and listening to the rain belting down on the roof and waiting for the downpour to stop. They've been there for hours, just listening to Archie's old music and half-studying.

Betty smiles up at him from where she's sat on the floor, leaning half against the couch and half against his legs.

He loves her, or, he knows he should love her. He cares about her, but he doesn't feel what he thinks he's supposed to feel. His stomach doesn't flip and his heart doesn't beat any faster when he runs his hands along her skin or through her hair. He doesn't get that thrill when he bumps into her between classes. He doesn't feel those things that he feels around her like he does when he's with Archie.

Jughead knows nothing could ever come of it, these feelings that he has. Sometimes, late at night, he lets himself think about what it could be like, if he and Archie could just hold hands walking down the school corridors, or fall asleep in each other's arms. Sometimes he lets himself think about what it would be like to see those brown eyes looking back into his own waking up late on a Sunday morning with Archie's strong arms around him making him feel safer than he has in years. Sometimes he thinks about what it would be like to feel his hair, soft and red in his hands as he strokes his face. Or his lips, soft against his own and whispering good morning, sweetheart, before they get up, wander slowly towards the kitchen and make each other breakfast.

And then sometimes he cries, waking up cold and alone to the sound of his alarm clock blaring. But boys aren't supposed to cry. And boys aren't supposed to cry over sickeningly sweet, stupidfantasies about a life with their best friend that could never happen.

"Jug?" Betty's soft voice brings him back to reality.  
"Huh?"  
"I asked whether you'd done question 3b yet."  
"Oh. Uh..." he looks down at the Biology sheet in his lap that he's barely started working on. "Not yet, sorry."  
"S'okay" she mumbles as she turns to ask Veronica the same question.

Jughead turns and lets his head lull back and rest on the back of the couch. He listens to the sound of the rain, lighter now, mixed in with the music quietly coming out of the small, tinny sounding speakers on the floor. He thinks about Betty, and the type of love he has for her. He loves her. He loves her so much, but it will never be the right kind of love, the kind she deserves.

***

Those eyes, the ones he so often finds staring back into his own, deep brown and full of understanding, as if they're trying to say "I know, I know, I know,". Those are the eyes that make Jughead wonder if maybe, just maybe, Archie does know. Sometimes he feels like they're both aware of it, whatever it is, all these feelings that Jughead has and doesn't know what to do with, and perhaps Archie doesn't either. So they create a language. One made up of secret glances and small touches and knowing looks and late nights spent in each other's company.

But those eyes, they're the same ones that look at him in confusion when Jughead will sit too close and make him wonder if they ever had a secret language at all. They're the eyes that look away when their hands accidentally brush against each other, and they're the eyes he looks into as they both sit on Archie's bedroom floor, late at night with cheap beer talking about girls.

And Jughead's never sure. He feels like he's constantly swinging back and forth, between complete sureness that Archie knows, and then to wondering if he's just oblivious to it all. 

It's one of those nights with warm beer and cold pizza on Archie's floor when Jughead does it. He's stiff from sitting in the same position for however many hours they've been there, talking and talking and talking. Or, at least, Archie is talking. Jughead spends most of his time quietly leaning against the wall, looking up at where Archie lays spreadeagled and facedown on his bed, going off on some tangent about a TV show, or the lady at the grocery store and how she never smiles.

"I actually think she's been sent up from hell to terrorise local shoppers." Archie's eyes meet Jughead's. "Don't you?"

He's not quite sure who Archie's talking about now. Is it still the lady from the store? Or has he moved onto their history teacher. He supposes he should be paying more attention to what he's saying, not thinking about how his lips would taste, or how his tanned skin would feel pressed against his own.

He feels like a creep.

Maybe it's the alcohol that makes him do it, although he's only had a beer and a half, or maybe it's the way the soft lighting makes Archie's skin glow, but before he knows what he's doing he's leaning over to where his friend is laying and trying to press his lips against his own.

Rejection doesn't happen like in the movies. There's no awkward kiss, and there's no heartfelt explanation of why Archie doesn't love him. It all happens too fast for Jughead. Archie moving away when he got too close, the silence, and the realisation of what had happened. He watches as Archie stands up and announces he's going to bed.

"It's late. You can stay in the guest room if you want." Archie says dryly, not taking his eyes off the floor and grabbing his toothbrush off the nightstand. Jughead knows the offer was made as a formality.

"I better get back." Is his response, wanting to say as little as possible for fear of his voice coming out shaky, to match his hands that he can't keep still.

"Yeah."

He still feels like a creep.

***

After that their encounters are left brief. Everything, everything, is left unsaid, all their conversations meaningless and conventional. Jughead wants to scream, or cry, or break Archie's nose just to get him to say something.

But he doesn't, of course. Jughead doesn't do anything. He stands by and watches as their friendship grows weaker, not knowing if there's anything he could do to repair it, and not willing to find out. If Archie cared, he would come back. And until then Jughead would wait, holding Betty's hand and telling her he loved her and convincing himself that it was the truth

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry that was terrible it's 1am but I just wanted to post something before I changed my mind I hope u enjoyed my shitty angst


End file.
